For Emma Leigh
by wannabemrsp
Summary: After a bad first year at MIT, Emma decideds on a new start in London. Soon she thinks she's fallen in love with an actor named Robert, but can their relationship survive his rising fame?
1. Wrong Tune

Chapter 1: Wrong Tune

"Mom, my flight was fine. I checked in and now I'm getting some coffee," I looked around for the voice. "I will take a nap, I don't have any plans for today, but I really need to get used to the five hour time difference," There she was, the only other person in the little café I'd stopped at to get a coffee and try and straighten out a line in a song.

I watched her, hoping she'd take her own coffee and leave, so the place would be absolutely quite and I could work on this in peace. I didn't move, I actually might have forgotten to breath while she was standing at the counter. Her voice carried over to me, where I was peeking around a decorative partition. She ordered a coffee and a blueberry muffin. They were putting the muffin on a plate with a fork, instead of boxing it so she could take it back to where ever she had come from.

"Well, tell Quincy and Liam to shut up, and I'll be fine. K, love you too, bye," She closed her phone and threw it into her purse, a huge newsboy bag, before gathering up her coffee and muffin. I sank back into my chair when she glanced around, then seemingly, she had the same idea as me, she sat in a chair near me and closed off from the rest of the café by the partition. I watched in silence as she opened the newsboy bag she had shoved her phone into and pulled out a notebook. She dug around in the bag until she found a pen and opened the notebook. I was kind of amused when she started to scribble something and then pen didn't make a mark, she mumbled a light curse and scribbled furiously with the pen before giving up and throwing it in the bag again. She dug around until she found another pen. Same problem, she realized, that it was the same pen, she set it to the side and went for another pen. Finally frustrated that she had no other pens she looked around on the little table between us, she spotted my pen. I grabbed the pen before she could take it, she looked up kind of surprised at me. "Oh, hello, I didn't realize someone else was here."

"I was hoping no one else would be here," I tried not to sound disappointed, I was kind of amused by how little she knew about her surroundings, also surprised by her accent, when hearing her direct something at me. America.

"I'm sorry," She frowned and glanced at the pen in my hand. "I'm just trying to get some coffee and a little bit to eat before going back to my hotel and sleeping for a few dozen hours. Can I borrow your pen, please? So I can write something down before I forget it?" I handed her the pen and watched her scribble something in the notebook. She reread what she had written and handed the pen back to me. "Thank you," and she really sounded grateful. She leaned back in her own chair and started sipping her coffee.

After a few minutes I decided it was no use waiting out her sitting there, and started to play my guitar again. I was vaguely aware that she was watching me. "Where are you from?" I asked still focused on playing.

"Boston."

"Hmm," I kept playing. "Here on holiday?"

"Sort of," I focused on my music, the line still wasn't right, it didn't feel right, it matched the words, the lyrics were right, but the tune just felt wrong as I played it. "That's very pretty," She whispered.

"Do you know anyone in London?" I glanced at her. She had crossed her legs and had an elbow resting on one knee holding her chin in her hand. She seemed to snap out of a daze.

"No, not really, I have some family in Bristol. Not real close family, a cousin I've met a few times," She shrugged. "They aren't natives to England or anything. You're native?"

"I grew up locally," I smiled. She let out a little giggle. "What?" She looked more than a little amused.

"Makes you sound like cattle or fruit. Locally grown," She shrugged. "Different vernacular," This time she showed off pretty white teeth when she smiled.

"English."

"Right, I suppose it's the difference between Spanish and Mexican or French and Canadian. English and American."

I chuckled and went back to my guitar. "Where is Boston?"

"You know where New York is? Everyone does, right?"

"I've been to New York," I nodded.

"Ok, well, up the coast. It's a big harbour city. A lot of Navy men and fishing and beer. And fishing for navy men when they drink beer and fall off gang planks," She laughed. "My brothers are in the Navy."

"How many brothers do you have?" I wasn't really interested, I wasn't sure what I was doing, I wanted her to leave, I should have just been ignoring her.

"Two older brothers Quincy and Liam."

"I'm sorry, what was your name?" I realized, hearing her say those names again I didn't even know what to call her.

"Emily. And you?"

"Robert. Emily, that's nice, I would have thought Katie maybe Annie," I glanced at her red hair.

"Emma Leigh, it's two separate words," She laughed. "My mom was a little creative. Robert, that's nice, classic."

"By classic you mean boring?" I tried to look serious and she bought it.

"I, well, no, my mom's ex husband, well, it's not a bad name, it's very popular and," I smiled to cut off her floundering, her face had turned about the same shade as her hair.

"You're fine."

"Oh," She sank back in her chair.

"Emily is popular too," I winked. "My parents lacked originality, my sisters, also older, are Victoria and Elizabeth," I played the line again and stopped. It just wasn't working. And Ginger wasn't leaving, she should have, she should have been back in her hotel or wherever sleeping. Her green eyes had black cirlces around them, she looked liek she hadn't slept in days. "So, how long are you staying in London?"

"About three weeks," She sighed. "I wanted to stay longer, but I have to get back to Boston and get ready for my second year of college. Amazing, I spent twelve years in an overstuffed private school and now I'm spending another seven years in an overstuffed university."

"Just going to do the tourist thing? Carry a camera all over London and take pictures of Palace guards?" I smiled.

"Actually, I'm looking for an apartment. If I can convince my parents that I'd be OK living in London on my own, I want to study here. I'm pre-law, studying in England would be wonderful."

"One of your parents is an attorney?" It was just a guess, it seemed to me that when children grew up with a parent who did something like that, they followed in their parents footsteps.

"My mother, my father is a doctor. I really wanted to be a film director, but," She shrugged.

"My dad's a used car salesman," I laughed. It was a little more than that, but that was the easiest way to say it. She bit her lips together and smiled.

"Let me guess," She looked at my guitar. "You moved out as soon as you could, and you're trying to make it on your art?"

"Something like that," I tapped my hand against the guitar in my lap. "This isn't my art. I'm an actor. This is entertainment."

"Oooh, British acting," She frowned. "I think you just lost me," Then she laughed.

"Why is that?"

She bit her bottom lip. "My favorite book is _Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy_ by Douglas Adams. The movie came out this spring, and really, the guy who plays Arthur Dent is a little flat."

"Oh," I frowned. "The movie is never as good as the book."

"No, and British actors are just," She looked away from me. "You can tell they are acting, can't you? They have no voice inflictions, they are flat and monotone. Maybe it's just the accent," She shrugged. "I have to get back to my hotel, I'm really very tired," She put her notebook back in her bag and stood up. "It was nice meeting you, Robert the Actor."

"A pleasure," I shook the hand she offered. "Emma-Leigh," My attempt to write my song in peace was squashed by the afternoon crowd that filed into the café. I took my own notepad and my guitar and headed back to my apartment.

* * *

_I'd just like to say that I actually really love The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and the guy (whose name I currently can't remember) who played Aruthur Dent played an excellent Arthur Dent. But that's not to say I absolutley loved the books, and the movie really is never as good as the book. _

_Also, I'm not big on British slang, so while I'd love to go about with Robert sounding British, I'm going to have to work on it._


	2. Another Meeting

Chapter 2: Another Meeting

"They are a bit rude," Eric was playing a video game.

"I don't think she was insulting me personally, just like an opinion," I sighed, I was looking over the lyrics again.

"Oh, a bit like walking up to someone who was wearing green and saying 'green is an awful color, and people who wear it must be murderers?'"

"What? No," I shook my head and glanced out the window, it was raining, that was pretty typical of London. I wondered what hotel she might be at. She was American, so she would probably go for a large chain hotel, one that had generic rooms and a menu that offered America foods. I hoped she was watching the news if she had the TV on, because she couldn't laugh at newscasters. "It was general, I'm sure she didn't aim it at me," I sighed. "She was nice, and pretty. Very pretty."

"And a tourist," Eric reminded me.

"Who wants to stay in London, she is trying to convince her parents to let her move to London so she can study British government."

"Rob, they all need a reason. If she had said she was just here to make crude comments about Big Ben and mock the Palace Guards, what would you have thought?"

"She's not here for that," It was the end of our argument. Matt walked in with take out for the restaurant below the apartment and Eric was too focused on eating to have a comeback.

The following day I went back to that café, by taking a detour and examining the hotels that were local. I spent a majority of my free time for the next week in that café. I really didn't know much about what Americans did when they came to London, but I figured if the coffee was good she might come back. I didn't have any luck. When I returned Monday evening Matt had something to say about my "stalker tendencies."

"It's not healthy, mate," He said without looking up from his book. "She's just a girl, a tourist."

I chose to ignore him.

* * *

I had read every book in the apartment, and I was tired of trying to work out the song I'd been trying to write. I wasn't interested in video games like Matt and Eric. Summer meant there was nothing on TV except reruns, even the production of new music seemed to have stopped. Hoping to find a good book to read I stopped at a bookstore. As I browsed through a collection of classics in paperback, doubtful I'd find a book that I was interested in, I saw her, out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of red hair. Not just any red hair, not the brownish sort of ginger or the blondish strawberry, copper, like a brand new penny.

I wandered around the shelves of books looking for her hair again. When I reached the checkout I turned back to look through the store again, but she was standing about five feet from me reading the inside flap of a hardback. I froze, panicked, I wasn't sure I'd ever thought that plan through, if I did run into her again. While I was trying to find something casual to say she glanced up in my direction. "Oh, lo, may I help you?" I swallowed.

"Emma isn't it?" She gave me a small smile.

"Yes," She looked a little confused. "Have we met?"

"About a week ago, in a café, you had coffee and a blueberry muffin, I was playing guitar, you insulted British actors and walked off," I was rambling and she was smiling.

"I don't like blueberry muffins," She looked back at her book. "A week ago, what day, specifically?"

"Um, Monday," I was very sure it had been Monday.

She laughed. "I was very, very tired," She sighed. "I'm sorry, that's all very possible, but I don't remember much of it," She shrugged. "I was very disoriented when I first got to London, I'm surprised I was able to put myself in a taxi and check into my hotel."

"Oh," I frowned.

"Well," She gave me a big smile. "Now that we have that out of the way, you know my name, what is yours?"

"Robert," I paused and then threw in my last name for good measure. "Pattinson."

"Hello, Mr. Pattinson. I'm Emma Paddington."

"Like the bear?" I looked at the display her book had come from.

"Yes," She looked at the book. "Only, I'm not from Darkest Peru, and I don't wear a funny little hat. And you said you found me in a café, not a train station."

I nodded. I remembered very little from the children's book she was looking at. I looked at the book again and then around at the shelf behind her, it was covered in children's books. "Seems a bit below your level, a university student."

"Oh, it's not for me, my niece wanted me to bring back a book for her, she's seven. Paddington is a chapter book, and British, thought she'd enjoy it," She looked back at the cover and smiled. "I have two brothers."

"Liam and Quincy," I nodded, I remembered her talking about her brothers.

"Actually, Quincy is the elder."

"Can I buy you a coffee?"

"Coffee? Sounds like we already did that part," She smiled up at me. Standing I realized how short she was. "But sure, that would be nice."

So I found myself in another café with her. Sipping coffee and enjoying myself. And not thinking about the single line in a song that would possibly never see the light of day.


	3. Chelsea and MIT

Chapter 3: MIT and Chelsea

I was still incredibly tired. I looked up at the alarm clock on the night stand, it was after noon. I'd wasted my first three days in London just trying to adjust to the time difference. Five hours was a lot harder then it seemed. I hoped that readjusting to Boston time would be easier, I was supposed to start my sophomore year at MIT about a week after I flew back. If I flew back. I was tempted to call the admissions department and tell them I was dropping out.

I thought about Robbie before climbing out of bed. He had those bright sparkling blue eyes and that dirty blond hair that was always a mess. I pictured his teeth, perfectly straight and white. And once I got past his physical appearance there was our physical relationship. Nope, I had to stop thinking about that because it could possibly break my resolution to stay in London. I wasn't going back to Boston to chase after Robbie, not in this life time at least. But the things he could do with his tongue… stop it, _stop it_.

As I showered I thought about how I could work things out. I had a small amount of savings, about five thousand dollars, and then if I managed to contact admissions before the start of the semester, I would get all my tuition back, that was at least twenty grand. Twenty five thousand dollars, if I got a job, even if it was just as a barista in a café, well, whatever minimum wage was in England to add to my twenty five, which would be considerably less in England. I could just have an apartment that was empty of furniture, just to show my parents that I could live alone, because that was why they weren't willing to fund this.

That was a sore spot. They had bought Quincy's house when he married Marilyn, and they were paying Afton's school tuition. Liam kept an apartment in Boston, my parents paid the upkeep for it. But they wouldn't pay for me to live in England, or not right off. My mother had lived her entire life in Boston, she didn't know anything else, and I wasn't going to be trapped like that. I was much more like my father.

My father had done a lot of traveling and lived a lot of places. Of course, that was with the advantage of having parents who had money and would give it freely. My parents had money and spoiled my older brothers, but I'd had a job since I was 15, I'd never asked my parents for much money, and the one time I did… I didn't want to remember the lecture I'd gone through a few months ago.

I went for a run, timing myself. But I couldn't make my normal three miles, or I didn't think I had, I hadn't run long enough before I had to turn back to my hotel. I was kicking myself for eating like a college freshman, pizza and ramen noodles. But when you live in a dorm on a campus as large as MIT-Boston, you don't have many other options. Right off campus was a McDonalds, Burger King, and Pizza Hut.

I was blaming the unhealthy food for the freshman 15 I'd gained, but really, it could have been the cigarettes and the fact that I had lain in my bunk with my laptop propped on my legs too much. My roommate had been the boniest thing, but then, it was possible she'd kept weight off because she was always strung out on drugs or getting fucked by the random guys she met. Another reason I didn't want to return to MIT, I'd walked in on her immoral acts too many times. Spring finals had been straw that broke the camel's back, I just needed my chemistry text, I didn't need my roommate asking if I was interested in a threesome. I'd complained to my housing advisor a dozen times.

College had its highs and lows. The low was my roommate. The high had been Robbie until about a week before the end of the spring semester. We'd never had sex, or not actual intercourse, we'd messed around a lot though. Robbie was a Junior but he had enough credits to graduate if he went took a few classes over the summer. He proposed to me. Robbie was doing everything his parents wanted him too, finish college, find a girl, marry her, settle down, have children. Staying a virgin until he got married, I'd heard a lot about that, he grew up Catholic. I liked Robbie, but not enough to see myself spending the rest of my life with him. I was only 18, marriage was the last thing I wanted.

Specifically, I didn't want the image that had come to mind when I saw the ring. It was me in a white dress in a cathedral style church saying 'I do' and then a flash to five years down the road, me with a gaggle of children climbing all over me and Robbie 'working' all the time but really banging his secretary in the copy room. Ok, so I'd probably been watching too much TV. But they guy who holds out for sex until he gets married? Well, he'll probably wander afterwards, especially if he's Catholic and doesn't believe in birth control. No one wants to have sex with a 23 year old with five children, and that would make my extra freshman 15 pounds seem like supermodel weight. No children, no marriage, not for a long time.

I started running again, every morning I'd managed to get out of my hotel room in decent time and would just jog until I got tired, or bored. I always left my cell phone in my room, London was noisy, not like Boston noisy, not like fish ports and drunk sailors, not like the echoed rumble of cars in the Tunnel or the train whizzing past, it was different, a peaceful noisy.

Sunday morning I was back to my hotel before noon, my phone was buzzing. I answered it, still a little breathless. "Lo," I said, not recognizing the number.

"Emma? It's cousin Chelsea," I racked my brains for a moment, then remembered, she was Uncle Freddy's daughter, two years older then me.

"Oh, hello, Chelsea."

"Hey, I hear you're in London for a few weeks, I know it's short notice but I'm in town for a few days and was wondering if you wanted to go out for lunch."

"Oh, sure," I had probably been three the last time our fathers had talked. After my grandmother died and they had to settle the estate, they had a falling out. She started giving me information on a restaurant she'd treat me to. "Hold on, I need a pen," I looked around on the desk where all the hotel pens had been sitting before I left. Of course the maid had come in, I was betting she had pilfered them.

"So how are you enjoying London?" I was kind of amazed at how strong her accent was, she hadn't grown up in Boston like me, after the falling out my uncle and his wife and two children had moved to Bristol, he had taken some job, or that was the official story.

"Um, it's nice, peaceful," I found a pen near the room service menu. "Ok," She started to rattle of information again. "Um," I didn't know London well enough, but I was pretty sure the address she had just given me wasn't in the small section I'd explored.

"Just get a taxi, and give the cabbie the address and he can find it, k?"

"Alright," There were a few more formalities before she told me she had to go.


	4. Lunch

Chapter 4: Lunch

In the taxi I pulled my journal out of my bag, I'd been to preoccupied to write in it. I was a little puzzled when I turned to the last page I'd written on and found "Coffee and muffin, selfish guitarist with blue pen." I couldn't remember any of that stuff. I remembered leaving my hotel for a walk after I'd checked in. I was sure I was trying to remember something about what I had done last Monday. Or who I had done, I laughed to myself. I thought of what I might have been saying in code, coffee skin color? Muffin as in lady parts? Selfish gutarist, well, I had no clue. Blue pen, my journal entry was in blue ink, but maybe that was a code, he used a blue condom? Way to remember the loss of my virginity. It probably meant none of that, I just had an over active imagination.

I closed the journal and put it back in my bag. The cabbie had found the restaurant I was supposed to meet Chelsea at. I paid my fair and got out, I stood on the sidewalk for a few minutes staring at the door. Then the door opened and a tall blond with green eyes looked at me. "Emma Leigh," She rushed and hugged me. "Oh my god, you look just like you did when you were three," She squealed. "I love your hair, its so red. Come on, lets eat," She tugged my hand inside and by passed the host at his stand. She shoved me into a booth and slide in across from me. "How are your parents?"

"There, um, good," I was still looking around. Everything looked perfectly, as far as restaurants went, it kind of looked like an AppleBee's. It had the same burgundy vinyl booths and tiffany lamps over the tables, I glanced at the menu. No, I wouldn't get so lucky, they probably didn't exist in England, I'd been lucky enough that the Marriott looked like the ones at home.

"So tell me about yourself, how are Quin and Li? My god, you look so much like Uncle Phil don't you? Is he still working for Boston General? And your parents still live in Beacon Hill?"

"My bros are good, and yes, to all of that, except, I have my ma'am's nose."

"You still call her ma'am? That is adorable. I love your accent, around here you don't hear much but plain old British accents, I guess if your really good you can tell where people are from specifically," She just kept grinning at me. "Oh, wow, I'm sorry, I ordered you a Pepsi and the fish and chip basket. They have the best fish and chips here," I glanced at the menu again.

"Right, that's fine," It was the fish and chips to AppleBee's steak and garlic mashed potatoes.

"You eat chips with ketchup? We lived in Germany for a time, they eat them with mayonnaise, that's how I like them."

"Either way," She was babbling so much, kind of like the bellhop had talked my ear off that morning. "Is there a little girls room?" She stared at me for a moment.

"Loos in the back," She giggled. I left the table and found my way to the restroom. I made sure my hair was laying flat, England was so humid, my hair had been corkscrewing, then washed my hands and went back to the table. Our food had arrived.

She couldn't talk while eating, or she didn't attempt to at least. Chips were not like French fries, they were more like chunks of fried potatoes, but not skillet potatoes which are round slices. I thought about chips, American chips, what the devil would they call them in England. "So if this is a chip," I motioned at the potatoes in my basket. "What do you call chips? Like the crunchy bagged potatoes we have in America?"

She giggled. "I still call them chips, my mother still call them chips, they say crisps. Not everything they do makes sense, right?"

"You have an accent."

"I was five when we moved, of course I have an accent. And I call my mother mum," She was quite for a moment. "So, I'm just guessing, but it's a guy right?"

"What?"

"You're running away from something in Boston. And it's a guy."

"His name is Robbie ," And I told her about how he had been perfect as a boyfriend, but then how shocked I was at his proposal. Chelsea had just admitted something that not even my parents discussed. "I just, I don't want to be tied down like that," I concluded.

Chelsea looked thoughtful for a few minutes. "He's three years older then you, so 21? Wow," She shook her head. "One time getting drunk, right, the drinking age is 21?" I nodded. "Yea, he probably won't be a virgin anymore," She clicked her tongue. As she was talking my phone started to ring in my bag. I dug it out. It was a text message.

"My niece wants me to buy her a book," I said and started to text her back to ask her what kind of book.

"Your getting service?" Chelsea looked surprised. "Most people come to England and they either don't get a signal or don't want to pay."

"Verizon," I mumbled. "International calling rates are outrageous, especially when you get into the entire thing that I'm technically roaming out of my service area, and then I'm placing international calls to home, its complicated. Text messaging is cheaper."

"So, who had a child?"

"Quincy, Afton is seven."

"And text messaging you on your phone?"

"No, probably sent by Marilyn."

"Oh," She nodded. "Afton?"

"Guess it was popular in 98," I smiled. "In England, not sure it made it to America. Marilyn is from here, she was a bar maid, that's how Quincy met her when he was stationed here."

"Hmm, American sailors, always making trouble for us," She winked at me. "That's a sweet love story, 'I met your father in a bar, he was so drunk I had to call him a taxi,'" Chelsea laughed. "Anyways, there is a book store around the corner, I'll walk you there," She slipped money into the little book that came with the bill in it.

* * *

It was a bookstore, nothing to write home about. It had shelves and books. It didn't have a big green sign that said "Barnes and Noble" or an attached Starbucks, but there was a nice children's section. I walked past the children's books the first time. There was a huge display of Paddington Bear books. I remember the book from when I was little, my dad had read it to me. While I was examining the book I was aware that someone was staring at me, I looked up to see the prettiest blue eyes and dirty blond hair staring at me. "Lo," I looked around to figure out if I was missing something important and back at him. "Can I help you?"

"Emma isn't it?"

"Yea, have we met?" He explained about the coffee and a blueberry muffin. He was apparently the selfish guitarist in my journal. "What day?"

"Monday," He said with a little nod afterwards, to confirm that.

"I was very, very tired. I'm sorry, that's all very possible, but I don't remember much of it," I shrugged and offered a sympathetic smile. "I was very disoriented when I first got to London, I'm surprised I was able to put myself in a taxi and check into my hotel," He frowned. "That's out of the way, what's your name?"

"Robert," Then he threw in a last name. "Pattinson," Robbie, that was just a freakish coincidence.

"Hello, Mr. Pattinson, I'm Emma Paddington," He looked at the display and the book and smiled.

"Like the bear?"

I made a joke about how, yes, like the bear, but I rattled off a short list of things that the bear had that I didn't. "You found me in a café, not a train station," I finished.

He nodded and smiled. "Seems a little below your level, a university student."

"Oh it's not for me," And I rambled about Afton wanting me to buy her a British book. Then I threw in that I had two brothers, not that that mattered.

"Liam and Quincy."

"Actually, Quincy is the elder."

"Can I buy you some coffee?"

I wanted something witty to say, but all that came out was "Coffee? Sounds like we already did that part," Then I realized how it sounded. "But sure, that would be nice."

* * *

_Sorry for the overlap, but you can see that they each have there own take on how this second meeting goes._


	5. A Little Birdie Told Me

I curled up in my bed with _The Long Dark Tea Time of the Soul_ this was probably the fifth time I'd read it. I was fully aware that I had the newest Harry Potter book in my suitcase, but I hadn't been in the mood for that. I revised my list, the five books I'd bring with me if I were going to be stuck on a island. The books I'd take were: _The Ultimate Hitchhikers Guide_ by Douglas Adams, _The Long Dark Tea Time of the Soul_ by Douglas Adams, _Four After Midnight_ a Stephen King collection, _Tuesdays With Morrie_ by Mitch Albom, and my Common Book Prayer that I got for confirmation.

I loved staying in a hotel, not having to worry about changing sheets or washing towels, no one to yell at you when you left your clothes laying on the floor. We'd always stayed in Marriott's, so I was relieved when walking into my hotel room in London was like walking into one in Dallas, Texas or New York City. Right down to the six overstuffed down pillows and the down comforter and khaki walls. My mother's nephew, my cousin Adam, worked for JW Marriott in Washington, DC. He had recommended this hotel, and even booked it for me. I wished my mother had a niece who worked for the airline.

I couldn't focus on my book. I turned on the TV, I didn't know any of the stations, but they did have Disney UK, it was like the Disney Channel back home. But less commercials. As I watched the TV there was a knock on my door. I pulled my fluffy robe off the vanity chair and went to answer it. I stood on my toes to look out the peep hole, it was Robert. I couldn't make myself decent while he waited, it might take a really long time, so I opened the door. "Oh," He frowned at my robe. "You left this," He held out my cell phone.

I took the phone back, he'd turned it off, or it had died. "How did you find me?"

"I asked nicely," He smiled. "It wasn't hard to figure out what hotel you might be staying at. The front desk was particularly helpful in directing me to your room."

"That's creepy," I said, honestly, I thought the British were all about privacy, but he'd managed to just walk into the hotel and get the front desk to give up my room number. Maybe it was American's that were over protective about privacy, we were the ones with the personal bubble problem, after all. But there was all that stuff about affection, like in _What a Girl Wants_ when Daphne hugs her grandmother who says 'Were British, we only show affection to horses and dogs.'

"I just wanted to make sure that got back to it's owner, it rang, once."

It wasn't turning back on. "I have a bad habit of not charging it," It was awkward him standing outside the door in the hall way. A man walked by and glanced at me and shook his head. "You want to come in?"

"Oh," He glanced at the room behind me. I stepped to the side and he walked in and looked around.

"I, um, hold on just a minute," I darted into the bedroom and closed the French doors separating it from the little living room. I threw my robe into the vanity chair and pulled on clean jeans and a polo tee. I grimaced at the colors, it was pale yellow with thin purple strips. I ran my brush through my hair and decided I couldn't be bothered with makeup, I just looped a hair elastic around my hair in a sloppy bun and went back to the living room area. "Sorry," I smiled at him, he had sat down on the couch and was looking at the cannel guide from the coffee table.

"Oh, no, I should have had the front desk call up to you," He said, he looked a little amused by my clothes.

"Yea, yellow and purple, in my defense, it looked really cute on a mannequin."

"It goes well with your hair," He smiled. I felt my face go red. "Oh, have I made you blush?" He gave a little laugh. I was a little surprised that wasn't entirely awkward. "Reds a good color for you, makes you freckles stand out a bit more."

"You can stop that, I start to turn purple after a while," I was sure I'd already started.

"I was thinking, that if this was a date, it should have ended differently," He had stood up at that point, he literally towered over me, but then who didn't. "Your very pretty," I tried not to blush more at that, but my biting lip technique didn't help.

I was only slightly on my tip toes, he had leaned down to my height to kiss me. Kiss me, well, it was over now and I was wondering what had happened, one minute he told me I was pretty and the next he had pushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear and put his hand on my neck. It had most defiantly been the best kiss ever, at least, for me, I had been too stunned for a few moments to realize when he parted his lips. I just found my self mimicking him. And now I was wondering if I'd done it right. Not that I had never kissed before, but I was pretty sure they called it snogging here and I wasn't sure I'd done that bit right. "Wow," I breathed when he pulled back from me. I glanced up at him, part of me wanted to laugh, just because that was certainly an ice breaker.

"Now it's a date, alright," He smiled. It wasn't a question, it was a confirmation.

"Yea, snog, date, coffee," Those were the random things that came to my mind, I jumped when he chuckled.

"Can I have your number?" Without talking, I wasn't sure I could at that point, I found a pen and hotel note pad on the desk next to my computer. I started to scribble down my seven digit cell number. But there was the ten digit standard for Boston proper, and the plus one calling code. I handed him the paper. "Thank you," He smiled looking down at it.

He was reaching for the door and I found my voice. "Can I get yours?" He smiled and I held out the pen and paper. He wrote it down and put it back on the desk. I held the door for him and he leaned down and kissed my forehead.

"Sweet dreams," He smiled as he stepped backwards out the door.

"You're assuming I can sleep now?" He chuckled.

"Yes, I am," He winked and walked away. I sat at the desk and opened my laptop.

_Payton: now that should be called a snog, right? i'm looking 4 my Georgia Nicolson books right now._

I stared at the AOL window on my desk top. It's online, I thought.

_Me: Google it_

_Payton: y can't u?_

_Me: because, it'd b embarrassing_

_Payton: u just Frenched with_ _a Brit boy and you think Googleing 'snog' would be embarrassing?_

_Me: I'd end up finding Brit porno or something. _

I laughed to myself.

_Payton: how was it?_

_Me: would you believe me if I told u it was the best ever?_

_Payton: yes, American's don't snog like the Brits, that's why they own snogging and we just call it kissing, Frenching, making out, I'm out of terms…_

_Me: Pay-pay, I lub u_

_Payton: save the lub 4 a boy. A Brit boy with fantabulous kissing skills._

_Me: I'm only here 4 another 2 weeks, Pay._

_Payton: u r right, we need 2 start Project ST_

_Me: ST?_

_Payton: Sweet Talk, we need 2 butter ur PU's up 4 when u leave Boston. Ems u need 2 get out of the nest, and fly._

_I thought about what Payton had been saying. I piled my hair on top of my head and took my compact mirror and used it with the bathroom mirror to examine the back of my neck. Payton was going to talk to my parents in the morning. She had a plan. I feared it would involve her coming to London. Payton had been my best friend since kindergarten, I loved her to pieces, but I wasn't sure I wanted her flying to London for my sake._

_I'd managed to sleep all night, with a few wonderful dreams, except when I woke up kissing my pillow. I wondered what it would take to get my tattoo filled in while I was in London. I examined the outline of the china bird, it had some minimal details, but it was still just an outline. I took a shower thinking about it, running my fingers over the bird, I could just feel the raised part, none of my tattoos had any color, but I was thinking about blue for the bird._

_I checked the weather again, it looked very sunny. I went for flip flops and left my Converse sitting under the vanity chair. Denim Capris and a light purple tank top, I thought to bring a cardigan with me when I left my hotel room. As I stepped out of the elevator in the lobby I started to shove my sweater into my newsboy bag, my mother didn't get the purpose of such a large purse, but it really came in handy. I looked around it was almost empty, their was a bellhop on duty who was playing with a yo-yo and I didn't see anyone at the front desk. Someone had left a newspaper sitting on a little table in the cluster of chairs in the middle of the lobby. Since I hadn't checked out a newspaper since arriving in London and detoured through the group of furniture and leaned over to read the headlines._

"_Ms. Paddington?" I jumped and looked up. A man was smiling at me. "You have a message at the front desk," The man was wearing one of the burgundy vests and little gold name tags. Matt and under it his title Shift Supervisor. "I called your room but you didn't answer," He smiled going around the desk and looking through a stack of papers. "A Mr. Pattinson would like to meet you for lunch," He handed me that paper with the note on it._

"_Thank you," I said looking at the paper. "How did you know who I was?" I was just a little weirded out by how accurate he had been in locating me._

"_Oh, I wouldn't forget your hair, Ginger," He smiled._

"_Oh," I felt like I was getting that a lot._

"_Can I help you with anything else?"_

"_Um, no, thanks."_

"_Sure, Ms. Paddington, anything else, just ask," He smiled at me and I turned away._


	6. About Boston

I had a little under two weeks, I wasn't sure what I was actually thinking. You couldn't get to know someone in two weeks. I was walking out the door when my phone rang. "Hello?" It was Matt calling from work.

"Rob, listen, I gave her your message, has she called you?"

"Yes, I'm on my way to meet her right now."

"I know her cousin, Nathanial, remember him, everyone calls him Nate?"

"No, Matt, I don't remember him," I rolled my eyes. I couldn't possibly remember all the people Matt had introduced me to.

"Oh, well, apparently his sister has offered to let Emma stay with her."

"That's nice, Matt."

"It's just that Chelsea isn't really a very nice," Something interrupted him.

"Chelsea isn't what?" But he wasn't on the line anymore. What was he going on about Chelsea for, we all knew they were a crap football club. Rich pretty boys. The area was nice though.

She liked purple, this was the second time I'd seen her wearing a light purple color, it looked very nice with her hair. I had been trying to think of things outstandingly British to do with her, since I figured she didn't like games, I was taking her out to eat. Fish and chips, or what did they call them in America? Fries? French Fries, I remembered that, there was nothing French about them, like French kisses weren't French either. The French had a lot of things, and they might be known for kissing, but if you'd ever kissed an American girl, you knew that they mistakenly called it French kissing. Except Emma, she was a decent kisser.

"You don't have any food allergies do you?" I asked before opening the door for her.

"Um, no."

After we were seated I only glanced at the menu. There was only one thing you ordered when you came here, it was in the name. I was pretty sure the place was owned by an American who thought calling a fish and chip restaurant "Chips" was funny. Emma was glancing around and focused on the lamp over the table. "Something wrong?" I wondered if she might hate stained glass lamps.

"No, just looks like a place back home. Big chain called AppleBees," She said with a smile.

I raised my eyebrows and she giggled. I got that reaction a lot when I did that. "I think this is the only place that serves Pepsi. I, um, looked up Boston. It's in New England? New Englanders prefer Pepsi right?"

She laughed. "Yes, or I do, though I can drink Coke, not real picky there," She smiled and pushed the little paper coaster around on the table. It had the logo on it. "I don't think that's on the Commonwealth's home page."

"Where in Boston are you from? It's broken into Burroughs?"

"No, neighborhoods, Burroughs are what New York City has, and New Joy-see," She chuckled. "It's a joke," She said glancing up at me.

"New Joy-see?"

"New Jersey," She said and then ran her hand through her hair, I wasn't entirely sure but I thought she might have straitened it, or it was curled the other times I'd seen her. "I'm from Beacon Hill."

"That's like a rich neighborhood?"

"You could say that. Ashley is taking over, the Hill isn't what it used to be."

"It's predominantly Irish, but the main religion is Episcopal," I was just remembering the little things from the web pages I'd looked at.

"Yes, New York has Little Italy and Chinatown, but Boston has Little Ireland, we never had the Italian Mafia, we have the Irish version. We have Samuel Adams brewery, but bars sell more Guinness, New Orleans has Mardi Gras for the start of lent, Boston has Saint Patty's day. Even our public transit is infected by the Irish, we call it the Green Line," She chuckled.

"Your eyes caught on," I wished she'd look at me again, she was focused on the table. I'd dated a few blondes, mostly brunettes, but she was the first red head, and her eyes were the prettiest green, like emeralds. Out of all the girls I'd dated with green eyes, hers were the prettiest. It wasn't even about that though, I couldn't quit explain what I felt when she was looking at me. It made me incredibly nervous, like having butterflies in my stomach, but without the wanting to vomit part.

"Both my parents have blue eyes," She said grinning. She was looking at me from under her lashes. She didn't wear makeup, her eyelashes were naturally a dark brown, and long and thick, but if she was wearing mascara it was the only makeup she had on, because her eyelids were pale and anything would have covered the pale freckles on her nose and cheeks.

"God," I muttered, Matt and Eric were both looking up at me. "I don't know, I just, she's so, perfect?"

"You've known her what, two days?" Eric laughed. "She might be crazy for all you know."

"Ginger, mate," Matt laughed.

"She's so quiet, and kind of shy," I ran my fingers though my hair. "Not like an American," I added before they could turn this into the fact that she was a tourist.

"She's pretty, he was right about that," Matt said looking at Eric.

"How do you do that? You just attract them," Eric glared at me. "You should start sharing."

"Wow, mate, I'm not into sharing," Matt looked at Eric.

"You're an idiot," Eric answered. "What does Katie say about it?"

"Oh."

"You are still with her? Or not?"

"We haven't talked in a while."

I only had two weeks, and I didn't want to rush anything. Though at the same time I felt like if I had to fit a relationship into two weeks, it was going to be rushed. I planned to spend as much time with her as she'd allow. I had no real plan though, and if it ended when she flew back to Boston, which was more then likely because as my relationship with Katie showed, I just couldn't do the long distance relationship for long, I'd probably be fine. If I never slept with her, if I never got to kiss her again, if I never found out her middle name or what her favorite color was, my life could move on and I'd just go on the way I had been. I was compiling a list of things that went against the things I would never need from her. She was quiet possibly a virgin, she was an excellent kisser, it was probably Elizabeth, and purple or green because she looked good in both.


End file.
